


and this is where we belong

by sunsetozier



Series: &tiwwa universe [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 13:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14672304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: “We’re going, Richie,” Eddie states, his voice strict and stern as he leans forward to examine his reflection better. “We missed it last year, we’re not missing it this year.”Richie juts his lower lip out in a childish pout, trying to pull the puppy-dog eyes that he knows makes Eddie weak in the knees as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder and meeting his gaze in the mirror. “But it’s sohot, Eds,” Richie whines, on the brink of begging. “No amount of sunblock will save me from getting burned. Can’t we just stay here and throw our own pride parade? I can guarantee you’d have a blast.” Turning his head to the side, Richie presses a chaste kiss to the curve of Eddie’s neck and murmurs, “Please, baby?”[In which the losers attend pride for the first time.]





	and this is where we belong

**Author's Note:**

> this is an add-on to &tiwwa! it can be read on it's own, but it won't make much sense without the knowledge that comes with reading the original fic, so i highly suggest reading that before reading this.
> 
> timeline-wise, this is based about six months after the last chapter, which would be about a year since bev, val, eddie, and richie moved to seattle to join the rest of the losers.
> 
> i was already halfway done with this when i posted the last chapter of &tiwwa, but shout out to ao3 users wiersel and yamiitam for requesting the losers at pride for this series!

            After living in Seattle for a little less than a year, Richie has come to realize that, while Washington does rain as much as he’d previously heard, that doesn’t stop the summer from being blisteringly hot. So hot that he spends a majority of his free time with his head in his freezer, even considering shoving ice down his pants for the sole purpose of cooling off. It doesn’t help that him and Eddie have a fucked up air conditioner that only works for ten minutes at a time before shutting off, leaving their apartment to become more of a satanic sauna made specifically to torture him. It’s hell on earth, no doubt, but at least the sauna doesn’t give him sunburn.

            Which is why, on the last Sunday of June, Richie puts up a fight. And Eddie is not happy about it.

            “We’re going, Richie,” Eddie states, his voice strict and stern as he leans forward to examine his reflection better. “We missed it last year, we’re not missing it this year.”

            Richie juts his lower lip out in a childish pout, trying to pull the puppy-dog eyes that he knows makes Eddie weak in the knees as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist from behind, resting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder and meeting his gaze in the mirror. “But it’s so _hot_ , Eds,” Richie whines, on the brink of begging. “No amount of sunblock will save me from getting burned. Can’t we just stay here and throw our own pride parade? I can guarantee you’d have a blast.” Turning his head to the side, Richie presses a chaste kiss to the curve of Eddie’s neck and murmurs, “Please, baby?”

            Letting out a sigh, Eddie turns around in Richie’s hold, snaking his own arms around Richie’s shoulders to pull him down into a quick peck of a kiss, pulling back before Richie can try and accelerate it in any way. “I love you to pieces,” Eddie tells him sincerely, bringing down one of his hands to pat condescendingly at Richie’s cheek, “but the rest of the losers will be here in ten minutes. We’re going to pride, Rich, and I swear you’re gonna love it.”

            “I won’t love it if I die of fucking heat stroke,” Richie groans, trying to duck his head in order to capture Eddie’s lips in another kiss. He succeeds for a moment, but Eddie just pulls away again, this time pushing Richie a few steps back and pointing towards their bedroom expectantly.

            “I already picked out an outfit for you,” he says, cocking at eyebrow at Richie when he makes no move to leave. “Either put it on now or change in front of the losers. We need to leave as soon as possible to find a good place to watch the parade.”

            Rolling his eyes, Richie finally complies, trudging his way back towards their bedroom reluctantly. He almost feels guilty for fighting this so much – honestly, the idea of attending pride makes him jittery with excitement, but anytime he thinks about having to sit out in the boiling heat of what Richie can only imagine is similar to that of the Devil’s asshole, he starts to feel queasy. Despite this, he can’t help but bark out a laugh at the clothes folded on top of his dresser, a grin stretching over his features as he calls out, “You sure about this, Eds?”

            Sounding equally as amused, Eddie replies, “Put it on, Trashmouth.”

            When the rest of the losers (including Valery and Patty) stumble into the Tozier-Kaspbrak residence, high spirited and full of joyful anticipation for the day to come, they’re not surprised to see the kitchen and living room empty. They had agreed, after all, to help each other get ready, so it’s easy to assume that the couple is already in the bathroom. It’s this thought process that leads them to barging into the master bedroom without bothering to knock, resulting in them coming face-to-face with Richie, as expected.

            What’s _not_ expected, however, is the familiar red shorts that barely manage to cover the top few inches of his thighs, as well as the loose white crop top with **IF LOST, PLEASE RETURN TO EDDIE KASPBRAK** printed across the front in big, bold letters.

            “Oh, my god,” Stan breathes out, eyes wide as he takes in Richie’s appearance.

            Richie grins, holding his hands out and turning slowly to show it off further, exposing the rainbow on the back of the crop top. He waits until he’s facing his friends once again before asking, “Well? What do you think?”

            Mike snorts, which unleashes the chain of cackling as they all step forward to poke and prod at the ridiculous outfit. “Jesus Christ,” Beverly wheezes, tugging lightly at the drawstring of the shorts. “Weren’t these Eddie’s when we were, like, twelve? What the fuck?!”

            “Spaghetti man picked out my clothes,” Richie defends, hands held in front if him as he suppresses his own giggles. “Take your questions to him. I’m just the hot model.”

            “Have I ever told you how modest you are?” Ben asks, snickering. “I hope not, because you aren’t.”

            Richie huffs, crossing his arms over his chest and sticking his chin in the air defiantly. “I know what I’ve got and I’m not afraid to flaunt it. What, you want a slice of this pie, sweetheart?”

            “You should say no, Ben,” Eddie suddenly interrupts, stepping into the bedroom from the master bathroom, clad in plain black shorts and a matching white crop top that says **IF LOST, PLEASE RETURN TO RICHIE TOZIER** on it. “Trust me, I’ve been stuck with him for almost two years now. The pie is not that good. You deserve better.” While the rest of their friends let out another round of laughter, Richie can’t hold back the dopey, lovestruck smile on his face. “As for the shorts,” Eddie goes on, gesturing to the item of clothing that are barely clinging on to Richie’s legs, “they’re not the exact same ones I had as a kid, but I saw them online and had to buy them. They fit me perfectly, which means they barely fit him, which is exactly why I’m making him wear them.”

            “Okay, to be honest, these are so weirdly comfortable,” Richie says, tugging at the hem of the shorts as he speaks. “Like, they’re really tight, but not _too_ tight, if that makes sense?”

            Bill nods with a chuckle. “I know what you mean. Little Richie is secure, but he can still breathe.”

            Richie snaps his fingers and points at Bill with a blinding grin. “Exactly!” He then immediately falters, eyebrows rising as he glances between Bill, Patty and Stan, mischievous curiosity glimmering in his eyes. “How do know that, hm? You put on anything particularly form fitting for your lovers, Billy?”

            “I’m leaving before this gets too weird,” Valery sighs, though the amusement is clear on her features. She turns to Eddie expectantly. “You still want me to paint a pride flag on your cheek, right?”

            “Absolutely,” Eddie nods, reaching forward to wrap a hand around Richie’s wrist to tug him along. “Both of us. I want it to be really obvious to everyone else that we’re together.”

            Valery salutes, leading the way towards the bathroom, already pulling some cheap face paint out of her bag as she goes. “Ay ay, Captain. Both of you sit your asses on the counter. We need to head out in, like, fifteen minutes if we want good spots, so we have to do this quick. That means,” she looks between them pointedly as they perch themselves on the edge of the counter, “no squirming, no bickering, no talking. Just sit still and we’ll be done in five minutes. Got it?”

            “I’m only complying because you and Beverly are like my lesbian mothers and I feel like I have no choice,” Richie says seriously, hands clasped in his lap, legs swinging slightly as they dangle over the ledge of the counter.

            “I can deal with that,” Valery shrugs. She picks up the first small container of face paint and turns to Eddie, brows raised. “What about you? Will you behave?”

            Eddie rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be good.”

            Opening the paint, Valery nods and grins. “Then let’s get you gays ready to go.”

 

 

 

 

            It is, as Richie had predicted, horrendously hot outside when they step onto the street. As soon as the summer’s air brushes against his skin, he lets out a low groan, already looking down at Eddie with a pout. “Eds, baby–”

            “Not happening,” Eddie interrupts, lacing their fingers together with an amused smile. “It’s hot, I know. You’ll live.”

            “No, I won’t,” Richie sighs over dramatically, throwing his head back to squint through the sunlight. “I think I’m already starting to burn. Honestly, babe, I’m gonna pass out within the hour.”

            With a simple shrug, Eddie says, “We’ll drag you around if you do, but you won’t, so stop being so dramatic. Besides, we have plenty of water and snacks, you’ll be fine.” Richie huffs, but lets Eddie lead the way down the sidewalk, sulking like a little kid as they go. Around him, the losers excitedly chatter with one another, already passing around bottles of water, which Richie begrudgingly accepts, sipping from it every few moments as he blindingly follows the group. It feels like it's been hours, but really they only walk for about fifteen minutes before Eddie hums and exclaims, “There’s a perfect spot!”

            “It’s even in the shade,” Valery points out, nudging Richie’s shoulder with her own. “Looks like you’re gonna live, Trashmouth.”

            “Fuck off, Newbie,” Richie mumbles, but he still lets out a noise of appreciation as the sun is blocked by a building across the street and lets him actually focus on his surroundings. Now that he can actually see – his eyes are severely fucked (already forming cataracts, according to the fancy optometrist that the radio station sent him to when he tripped over wires that he didn’t see and almost broke his fucking arm) and when it’s bright out, he can’t see a fucking thing – he takes a few moments to appreciate their surroundings. The first thing that he notices is the large supply of pride flags hung up in store windows, draped over peoples shoulders, tied around necks like capes, and painted on various body parts of people as they walk by. There’s an endless amount of colors and different sayings scrawled on shirts and tank tops and crop tops, so much variety and diversity in the small space that Richie can see, and it’s… it’s kind of aweing, really.

            Eddie pulls Richie’s attention back to him by letting go of his hand and stepping into his line of sight, brows raised and a smug smirk on his face. “Change your mind about wanting to stay home yet?”

            “Not at all,” Richie states, though he knows the lie is easily detected as Eddie grins knowingly. Ignoring the way Eddie is looking at him, as if expecting him to give in and admit defeat, Richie shuffles forward and plops himself on the curb to keep looking around, examining people in the crowd that seem to be looking for their own place to watch the parade. Above him, he hears Eddie let out a little laugh and looks up to give him a cheeky little wink before asking, “When does this thing start, again?”

            “Eleven,” Eddie answers, taking a seat next to Richie and pulling out his phone. “We’re a couple blocks away from the beginning of the parade, though, so it probably won’t reach us until, like, eleven-fifteen, so… there’s about an hour, I’d say.”

            And with that, whatever excitement Richie felt is sucked out of him, replaced by the dread of sitting in this heat for so fucking long. With an overdramatic sigh, he slumps over and rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Sometimes I think you make me suffer because you hate me.”

            With an odd mix of a scoff and a snort, Eddie says, “Oh, yeah, I definitely hate you. That’s why I live with you, sleep with you, spend a majority of my time with you… obviously, I’m some kind of masochist. I’m into torturing myself by staying with you. It’s, like, a kink.”

            “That’s hot,” Richie deadpans as seriously as he can manage, only to erupt into soft little giggles as Eddie’s shoulders start shaking with laughter, and he figures that maybe… maybe sitting in an insufferable heat wave won’t be so bad.

 

 

 

 

            The next hour is barely survivable, but by the time the parade actually reaches them, Richie can’t for the life of him remember what he was complaining about. Every single float that passes by is bright and colorful, an abundance of music coming from somewhere down the street, from the speakers sitting on the backs of the floats, from the loud voices of those singing along to whatever may be playing aloud or within their own minds. To his right, Eddie is on his feet and dancing to every single tune with a pride flag that he bought from a cart going by clutched in his hands, grin wide and blinding, an absolute beam of a smile that makes Richie’s heart thud heavily in his chest. On his left is Val and Beverly, holding onto one another and cheering loudly to every single float going by, pointing to particularly stunning girls that catch their eye and giggling to each other as they enjoy themselves.

            Directly behind him is Bill, Stan and Patty, intertwined with linked hands and fingers tangled in shirt fabric; it’s impossible to distinguish who is who, where one person ends and the other begins, and when Richie looks back at them, he thinks it suits them well, being together. According to Stan, the three of them had a long and bumpy road to realizing what they wanted, emotions and feeling confusing the shit out of them, and it makes sense, really; Richie can’t imagine suddenly realizing he’s in love with someone else while still being in love with Eddie. The amount of guilt and self-hatred that Stan went through when he was struggling with this had been astounding, and he had suffered completely alone for months, not telling anyone else in fear of being judged and proven than his guilt was for good reason, of being told that he was a bad person for the way he felt. Even now, with the three of them having a happy and healthy relationship, Richie doesn’t know the full story of how they got here, has only heard vague snippets of bad nights and long fights and endless miscommunication, but seeing them like this…

            Well, Stan was happy when he started dating Patty, and Bill was just happy in general, but they both look a million times happier now, and that’s something that Richie will forever be grateful for.

            In front of him, having been pulled into a group of dancing strangers that are kind of in the parade but aren’t really going anywhere, are Ben and Mike. Ben, who accepted the fact that he’s bisexual about three months ago and is crushing on two different people right now (a couple of his coworkers, Alfie and Samantha), is clearly having the time of his life, his cheeks flushed from a mixture of all the attention he’s getting, the direct sunlight, and the effort that goes into dancing for so long. Mike, however, is appearing to have the identity crisis he’s been having for the past year settled. Or, at least, he’s starting to come to a conclusion. Maybe. Possibly. Richie can’t actually tell, seeing as the only input they’ve had from Mike was a whispered, “Definitely not straight,” when he came over to get a drink of water, before going back to join the party, but that’s an improvement from the endless _maybe’s_ and _I don’t_ _know_ ’s that he's been throwing out since last Christmas, when Eddie and Beverly came out, Richie right behind them.

            As for Richie, he’s surprisingly mellow, an uncontrollable, permanent grin on his face as he looks at the parade, at his friends, at Eddie, and back again. He stands whenever his legs start to ache or he feels a bit restless, but for the most part he just sits and observes. It would be impossible to explain it if someone were to ask, but he feels like he’s in some kind of a dream, his skin tingly and his breathing out-of-place and everything feeling distorted, but it’s all in a good way, a way he can’t describe. Everything feels enhanced and magnified, too good to be true, absolutely perfect.

            “Rich,” Eddie says, and he’s panting from dancing for so long, his face kind of red, skin glimmering with sweat, a halo of sunlight surrounding his head as he looks down at Richie. He has a hand extended down, eyes blown wide and smile so wide it looks like his face may split in two, and in a breathless sort of tone, he asks, “Dance with me?”

            Before he even has the chance to consider denying the offer, Richie finds himself nodding and taking Eddie by the hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Once he’s up, he hears his friends cheer, and it takes a moment to realize that they’re cheering for him, a sarcastic kind of applause that makes him roll his eyes and flip them off, drawing out a round of loud laughter that tapers off into more genuine cheers for the floats going by. Eddie tightens his hold on Richie’s hand and pulls him closer, kissing him quick and sweet, before going back to dancing along to whatever music comes on, mouthing the lyrics that he knows and grinning at the lyrics he doesn’t. After a moment of watching Eddie let loose with a fond grin, Richie decides to join in on the fun.

            And next year, whether it’s unbearably hot or the middle of a fucking snow storm, Richie plans to be right here, his lover by his side, his friends surrounding him, having the time of his god damn life.

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any requests for this universe, comment them below or send them to my askbox on tumblr @ sunsetozier!
> 
> requests that i have already gotten and am currently working on:  
> -reddie's first time  
> -the first time eddie tells richie he loves him  
> -one from stan's pov being the intellectual he is and noticing reddie way before they were aware of their feelings  
> -"anything to do with bev and val" (specifics would be well appreciated pfff)  
> -the losers observations re reddie (this one and the stan's pov one will most likely be merged into a single one shot)
> 
> if you have anything else, whether it be specifics to what's listed above or a completely different idea, let me know!


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